


Praise

by masulevin



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, M/M, Praise Kink, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 14:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masulevin/pseuds/masulevin
Summary: Henry Trevelyan and Dorian Pavus are traveling together for the first time since they started sleeping together. When they end up sharing a tent, Dorian takes advantage.





	Praise

**Author's Note:**

> Henry isn't the Inquisitor (he's her brother), but that doesn't matter so much for what's about to happen.

If Henry thought there would be any question of sleeping arrangements, he was immediately proven wrong. His first trip out of Skyhold with Dorian filled him with inexplicable anxiety about how to act and what to expect, but Asha and Cassandra put at least one fear to rest as they pair off to set up one of the team’s two tents.

He and Dorian share a look before they start to set up the second tent. Henry is of little help, having  _never_ set up a tent before, and Asha has to come over to help them as Cassandra starts warming dinner.

Dorian teases him about being a pampered Southern mage who can’t take care of himself as though Dorian wasn’t a pampered Northern mage who couldn’t take care of  _himself_ just a year ago. Henry allows the gentle mockery, grateful that his complexion hides blushes well.

Cassandra disappears into one of the tents before everyone else is done eating, though Henry can see her silhouetted by candlelight, sitting up and reading. Asha disappears just a few minutes later, into the tent she helped Cassandra prepare, and Henry can hear the two women speaking quietly to each other.

Dorian is already looking at him when Henry turns his head, a little smirk lifting his mustache up at one corner.

“Are you ready to–?” Henry asks, pushing past the little ball of anxiety in his chest and nodding his head back toward their tent. “I know you like your beauty sleep.”

Dorian arches his brows and sniffs in mock disdain. Henry smiles back and wonders when he started to realize the difference between Dorian pretending and Dorian actually disapproving of things.

“If you insist,” Dorian says, lifting his chin like he wasn’t drooping on his feet earlier. He goes into their tent first and Henry sweeps in behind him, pausing to tie the flaps closed against the night air.

They take their time getting ready for their night together – not really their first  _time_ together, but their first night to sleep side-by-side – undressing and tending to their usual evening rituals. Henry finishes as Dorian is putting something on his face that smells vaguely astringent and lays down, on his back facing away from the other mage. Better to put the temptation where he can’t see it.

He can feel it when Dorian lays down too, the air around them shifting, and then the magelight floating at the top of their tent extinguishes at Dorian’s silent command. Henry smiles into the darkness and squeezes his eyes closed, trying to remind himself that this doesn’t have to be a big deal. They’re both adults, they have their own bedrolls – the space is small, but they can easily sleep without touching.

It’s fine.

Just because he  _wants_ to sleep with Dorian’s arms around him doesn’t mean he  _has_ to, or that  _Dorian_ wants to, or that they–

Dorian clears his throat, the sound very pointed in the silence of their tent, and Henry rolls over to face him as his train of thought slips away.

“Need something?” he asks, voice pitched low so that the girls in the other tent won’t be able to hear. He can’t see Dorian’s expression at all, just a slightly darker outline where his body is, but he can definitely feel Dorian’s hand skimming over his cheek to grasp the short hairs at the back of his head. “ _Oh_ ,” he breathes, and Dorian’s laugh is a puff of air across his face before their lips connect.

Henry’s groan is a needy little thing as he scoots closer, fingers seeking Dorian under the blanket. He finds warm, bare skin and groans again as their mouths move together. Dorian’s tongue teases at his lips, and he parts them, sliding his hands down Dorian’s side to his rear. Dorian moans too as Henry squeezes, then tugs him closer, swinging one leg over Dorian’s hips to hold him in place.

Dorian breaks their kiss only to place smaller ones along Henry’s jaw, nose scraping through a day’s worth of scratchy beard. Henry bites his lower lip and tilts his head up, giving Dorian more room to work, and Dorian smiles against Henry’s skin.

“ _Ah_  – been planning this, have you?”

Dorian nips at the side of Henry’s throat, not hard enough to leave a mark, just hard enough to make him squirm, before pulling away to answer. “You’re always much warmer than I am.”

Henry lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re the  _fire_ mage,” he points out, for what must be the hundredth time. “I don’t understand why you’re always –  _hnng._ ”

Teeth against the hollow of his throat make him forget his train of thought, as does the hand slowly sliding down his side. Both tease him, promising  _more_ , and Dorian is nothing if not true to his word. Nimble fingers pull at the ties of Henry’s sleeping pants before dipping under the band, then nails scratch back up towards his stomach through dark hair.

“ _Fuck_ , Dorian–”

“That’s  _general_  the idea, yes.” Dorian has to lift his mouth from Henry’s throat to speak, and Henry takes full advantage, leaning forward to capture Dorian’s lips in another kiss. This one is desperate, bruising, even harder than the one before it. Dorian shudders and presses into it, giving in and slipping his hand down to grasp Henry’s cock in his hand.

A few gentle strokes and Henry is fully hard, shivering under the feeling of Dorian’s tongue rubbing against his and Dorian’s fingers teasing his length.

Henry follows suit, his quest made easier by Dorian’s well-planned nudity, and he finds Dorian ready and already leaking. Henry squeezes and strokes, falling into Dorian’s rhythm before pushing the other man to move faster, muffling moans against his lips.

“Is this what you wanted?” Henry pulls away to speak, to tease, nose still pressed against Dorian’s. “When you climbed into your bedroll naked as the day you were born?”

Dorian just whines.

“Were you thinking about this all day? As you rode your horse behind mine, were you thinking about what you would do when you got me alone?” He moves his hand faster, gathering the little drops of liquid as they gather on Dorian’s tip, using them to ease his way. His breath comes in little gasps, his voice growing deeper as he struggles to continue talking as Dorian continues his own increasingly fast strokes. “Did you always plan on using me tonight to warm your bed, or is this a convenience for you?”

“No, I– I–” Dorian has to stop and moan as Henry delivers a particularly hard stroke, twisting his wrist at the apex to make Dorian shudder. He bites his lips and inhales sharply before trying again, voice low enough to avoid carrying to the other tent. “ _Please._ ”

“Please?” Henry echoes, eyes wide to try and see in the dark. Dorian’s harsh breaths fill the air between them, soft pants and whines bitten back at the last moment. His lips would be red and swollen if Henry could see them, high spots of color on both cheeks, mustache thoroughly mussed from their kisses.

Henry shudders as the images spring to his mind, of Dorian writhing under his touch, bathed in golden sunlight streaming through his window, of his head thrown back in ecstacy, of his back arched and muscles rippling in the light.  _He’s beautiful._

“You’re beautiful.” The thought is spoken aloud before Henry can even think to stop it, but Dorian doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it seems to push him deeper into his pleasure, and he buries his face in Henry’s neck, not kissing, just seeking that closeness. “ _Fuck_ , you’re gorgeous,” Henry says, and that’s all Dorian can take.

He bites Henry’s collarbone as he comes, hard enough to leave a bruise, and Henry strokes him through it. Dorian’s body tenses, goes completely silent as the pleasure washes over him. He comes against Henry’s stomach, drips down onto Henry’s bedroll, and Henry’s hand continues slow movements over Dorian’s shaft until he calms.

Dorian kisses the bite mark he left behind and pushes through a light healing spell, just enough to fix any broken skin and maybe reduce the bruising enough to keep it from being obvious the next morning, but Henry doesn’t have time for that. Instead, he moves his hand – now sticky with Dorian’s spend – to his own cock, wrapping it around Dorian’s and guiding him to continue stroking.

It doesn’t take him long to finish, not after Dorian’s display, not after realizing how Dorian reacts to that kind of praise. It’s something to remember, if he can remember anything the next day.

Henry’s orgasm isn’t nearly as silent, but he grits his teeth together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. He spends between them as well to Dorian’s murmured encouragements, adding to the mess, holding onto Dorian’s hip for dear life. Surely that’s hard enough to leave bruises behind as well, but Dorian doesn’t seem to mind. He moans as Henry does, then smiles into the kiss Henry leans in to give him.

“That almost made the trip out here worth it,” Dorian says, and Henry snorts with tired laughter.

“Do you have a cloth or–” Dorian rolls away, then comes back with a rag. It would have been a useful addition first, but… Henry makes do, cleaning first himself and then Dorian before finally blotting the mess between them. “Move over.”

Dorian scoffs but obeys, moving back to his bedroll. Henry joins him after a moment, curling around Dorian’s back and pulling the blanket over them both.

“Is this okay?” Henry’s question is quiet, hesitant even as he presses a line of kisses over Dorian’s bare shoulder. “I wouldn’t want you to get too cold and freeze to death on my watch.”

Dorian grumbles under his breath even as he relaxes into Henry’s arms. When he doesn’t respond, Henry starts to pull away, to go back to his side of the tent and sleep there despite the coldness and the wet spot on the blankets, but Dorian’s fingers find Henry’s arm and pull him back.

“Stay.” A beat, then: “Please.”

Henry smiles and wraps his arm back around Dorian’s middle, listening to Dorian’s even breathing as he slips into the Fade.


End file.
